


Testify

by eternaleponine



Series: Ghosts That We Knew [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deleted Scene, Gen, Warning: Discussion of Past Sexual Assault/Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:57:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another "deleted scene" from Ghosts That We Knew.  This is Natasha's testimony in the trial of her "uncle".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Testify

"When did the abuse start?"

"You mean when did he start selling me?" Natasha asked. It came out more sharply than she'd intended; she'd honestly meant it as a question. She didn't know how these lawyers, with their slippery words, even the ones supposedly on her side, defined things.

"Yes."

"Thirtieth November. Was Friday."

"You remember exactly?"

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "Is not something you forget, when first time is rape but you must pretend you want."

"Did you tell anyone after it happened?"

She shook her head. "No. I do not tell." Natasha waited for the inevitable follow-up question: 'Why not?' But it didn't come.

"Has the man who claimed to be your uncle, Aleksander Nebakov, been abusive prior to this incident? Did he harm you in any way?" Her lawyer wasn't even looking at her as she asked the question. Shouldn't she be looking?

"Sometimes he hit me, pinch me, shove me if I say wrong thing, do wrong thing. Sometimes I do nothing but I am there and he is angry, so I am easy target. But he is always careful that marks do not show." Natasha rubbed at her upper arms without thinking, able to feel the pressure of his fingers there even months after he'd last touched her.

"But you didn't tell anyone?"

"No."

"Why not?"

There it was. But maybe her lawyer had waited on purpose, because making her remember how he'd pushed her around made her remember the things he'd said, too. "He tell me if I make trouble, if I say he is treat me badly, they send me back to Russia. I do not want to go. I keep mouth shut and hope maybe it will stop if I just stay quiet, stay out of way."

"Did it stop?"

Stupid question. Obviously it didn't stop. She'd already said her uncle – no, not her uncle, Nebakov, who she shared not a drop of blood with – had sold her for sex. "No."

"Did things escalate?" When Natasha didn't immediately answer, she rephrased the question. "Did it get worse?"

"He _sell_ me to men for _sex_. They pay to _rape_ me. They give _him_ money to rape _me_. This is not worse?"

"I'm sorry, Natalia. I'm not trying to upset you, but we need to understand the situation. Before that first time, did he ever touch you sexually?"

Natasha hugged herself harder, then realized it made her look weak and sat up straighter, dropping her hands to her lap. "First time was not him. First time was, 'Very important man. Very good for business. He like you, think you are pretty. You make him happy. Or else.'"

"That's what Nebakov told you?"

"Yes."

"Or else what?"

Natasha shrugged. "Or else he hurt me. Or else he send me back to Russia. I don't know. I do not ask. I know then he is bad man. I do not want to find out how bad."

"But he didn't touch you sexually before that?"

"No."

"What about after? Did he touch you after?"

 _I don't want to talk about this. Don't make me talk about this._ But she didn't have a choice. She had to answer the questions, no matter how invasive, no matter what memories she wanted so much to bury they stirred up. "Not... right after. I... he..." She looked down at her hands, knotted in her lap, and swallowed hard. "He make it clear what my value is, if he think I am... out of line. He make sure I understand what is good of me, what is worthless."

"And what parts of you did he think were valuable?" her lawyer asked.

 _No. NO._ "You want me to draw picture?"

"Just answer the question, Miss Romanova." Her lawyer's voice was hard, and she couldn't help noticing the shift from the comforting Natalia to the harshness of her last name. She'd been warned that this wouldn't be easy, that it would seem like her own lawyer was attacking her at times. But it was so when the other lawyer started asking questions, there would be very little left to say, very little left unexplained that the defense could pick at. It would all already be out there, on their terms. 

At least that was the goal.

She asked again, "What parts of you did Nebakov think were valuable?"

"Between legs. Flat on back. Or however they want me," Natasha spat. "This is all of me that matters, he say." She felt sick even saying the words. It wasn't true. _It wasn't true._ She was more than that. She meant more than that.

"But until that first time, on November 30th, you had no idea that this was what he planned to do?"

What did this matter? He'd done it. Wasn't that all that mattered? Who cared whether she'd known ahead of time or not? Wasn't this woman supposed to be fighting _for_ her? Wasn't she supposed to be one of the good guys?

"Miss Romanova?"

"He say things to me and around me. He did not try to hide what he was thinking, what he want to do with me. When his friends, his comrades, they touch me, tease me, say dirty things to me, he say nothing. He laugh. So it was not all surprise when it happen." She could feel color flooding her cheeks, and she cursed it because it wasn't her fault, damn it. She wasn't to blame and she had nothing to be ashamed of.

"And again, you didn't tell anyone?"

Natasha bit back a curse as tears flooded her eyes. "Tell them what? What I should tell them? 'My uncle, I think he is going to turn me into whore.' How I can prove something has not happened yet? What they are going to do? 'Mr. Ilianov, your niece think you are looking for man to buy her virginity. She tell us that maybe you will make her to go to bed with filthy, reeking fat man to seal contract. This is true?' 'Oh no, no, why she would say something so crazy? She speak English not so good. I think she not understand. I love niece, bring her from Russia out of goodness of heart. Why I would hurt her?' 'Oh, okay. So sorry to bother you.'"

The words just hang in the air for a moment before her lawyer asked the next question. "How long did this go on for?"

"Until he was arrested."

"Which was on May 3rd?"

"Yes."

"How often did it happen?"

"A few times in week. Mostly on weekend. Usually only one man per night, but sometimes more." Facts. Cold, hard facts. She let them freeze her, turn her to ice.

"The same men, or different men each time?"

"Sometimes same. Sometimes different. They all start to be same. I try not to think, not to remember."

"So for six months, a few times a week you were forced to have sex with men who paid your uncle for it, sometimes multiple men in the same night?"

"Yes." 

"Did you ever refuse to do it? Did you ever say no?"

Her fingers clenched so hard she was surprised she didn't draw blood with her own nails. She didn't want to remember this. Why did she have to remember? "Once."

"What happened?"

"My uncle... Ilianov... Nebakov..." She stumbled over the words, the name, his identity a tangled mess and couldn't she just call him That Monster? "Nebakov. He say okay. Okay, I not have to have sex with this man who pay good money for me. He give money back and send man away."

"Then what happened?"

Natasha forced herself to keep her chin up, to not let herself curl inward. She had to be strong. She _was_ strong, and it was all the past, right? It wasn't now, and it never would be again. She had to believe that. Otherwise, what was all of this for?

"Then he rape me. The men... all they want is to get off. They use me and I am just a pretty face, a body, something warm to thrust into. But he want to hurt me. He want me to suffer, want me to break. Want to teach me lesson, do not defy him. I learn. I do not say no again."

She'd made herself get up the next morning, made herself go to school. She'd ended up in detention with Clint because they'd both skipped all of their morning classes. He hadn't asked questions; he'd just held her until she could draw in a breath without swallowing back a sob, until she'd stopped shaking and regained the power of speech.

She wished he was here now, but he couldn't be. It wouldn't be safe, and above all else, she needed to keep him safe. There might not be a way to keep him out of the proceedings completely, with the role he played in helping her get out, but her lawyer had agreed that they wouldn't disclose his name. He was a minor, after all. If his name was on the record, he would be in danger. Natasha wouldn't let him become collateral damage. 

"And you never told anyone?" That question, over and over again. What was she trying to prove?

"I never tell adult. I never tell authority."

"It must have been very difficult, keeping that going of secret, going through that alone."

"What choice I have?" Natasha asked. "He tell me if I am no use to him, he can send me back, and then what? Back in Russia, what else I am going to do? Would be same thing all over again, and no hope of better. At least here I have hope. A little."

Hope. Clint. They'd taught each other that word, and in her mind they were synonymous.

"You have no family in Russia?"

"No. My mother and father, they die when I am young. I grow up in orphanage."

"You called Mr. Nebakov your uncle."

"That is what he say. He say he is my mother's brother. Sergei Ilianov. I do not remember I have uncle, but he have all papers in order so orphanage give me to him for custody. I did not have very much choice. Once he come, orphanage say go, go."

"Then what happened?"

"He take me to America. I think maybe I just forget I have uncle. I was very young. Maybe was stupid, not to ask question, but you grow up like that, your dreams are very small. The only escape is books, television, movies and so much is America, America, America. Is chance I may not have again. I tell myself maybe will be okay. I tell myself it must be better. And for little while, is not bad. For little while, everything okay. I have own room, clothing, food, I go to school. Then when papers signed, all settled with immigration, he turn into other man. Dream turn into nightmare."

"How did you deal with it?"

"I just try to live life like is not happening. I go to school. I try to act normal. Is hard but is all I can do."

"None of your friends noticed anything was wrong?"

"I not have many friends. I keep people away so they don't know." Except Clint. She'd never quite managed to keep him at arm's length. "I don't tell them where I live. I don't get too close."

"So they had no idea."

"Not for long time. But one time, I miss school for week. One friend – best friend – he start to worry and he find where I live. I send him away."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want him to be hurt. Because I am afraid if my – if Nebakov know that I have friend, someone who make me happy, then he will use against me. I am afraid that he will hurt him to get to me. I need friend to escape to. I need him to be safe so I have safe place to go to."

"If you felt safe with him, why didn't you tell him what was happening?"

"I did not want him to look at me differently. I did not want him to turn away. What I am forced to do, I am ashamed. How I cannot be? I think if I tell him, he will be disgusted. He will walk away. I need this not to happen. He is all I have then."

"Did he know anything about what was happening?" 

"He know my uncle hurt me sometimes. I tell him why I need him to stay away, so he is safe. I do not tell him about sex."

"How did he know that you were being hurt? Did you tell him about that?

"No. But like I say before, one time I am missing school for almost whole week. He worry, so he find out where I live and come see me. I tell him to go away. Then one day my uncle come to school because I am home late and he grab me. Sometimes I have bruises, from uncle or from men, and I cannot hide them from him. I think I want him to know. I need someone to know."

"If he knew you were being hurt, why didn't he tell anyone? A teacher, the school social worker, someone who could get you the help that you needed?"

"Because if he tell, maybe I get sent away. Back to Russia or just somewhere else. I do not want to lose him. He does not want to lose me. So we say nothing. We think is better. We think we will find a way out for me."

"Still, that's a huge secret to keep from someone you were so close to. He never suspected anything?" 

"I don't know what he suspect," Natasha said. "But after I miss school for whole week, he come find me again, because he worry that I am hurt very bad, or maybe dead. Even though I tell him stay away, he is worry so much he come to find me. Was on Saturday night."

She swallowed hard, looking down. She didn't want to relive this moment. He was so good to her, had been so good to her for so long, and that night... that night it had all shattered, and she'd almost shattered with it. 

"What happened?"

"There is man there. He say... my friend, he say that he do not see much, but he see enough he thinks he know what is happening. And after, I go to my window and I look out and he is there, and when I see I tell him to wait but... he goes. Exactly what I am afraid will happen is what happens. And I think my heart is breaking."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that rose up, trying to steady herself. Of all of the bad moments in her life, and there were plenty to choose from, that one had been the worst. Watching him walk – no, run – away when she needed him more than anything, it had felt like her life was ending. The one good thing she'd had was gone, and what was the point after that?

"What happened then?"

"I see him in school on Monday, but we don't talk. He hates me, I think. On Tuesday I go out for walk late at night–"

"When was this?"

"January 22nd."

"Continue."

"I go out, and is cold, and I don't care. I go to place I have found, little shelter that is falling down but is place I can go to get away. I make small fire, try to keep warm but is too cold. I did not wear coat or gloves, nothing, just sweatshirt. I think maybe I will freeze there. Maybe I will die. I don't care."

"You were trying to kill yourself?"

Natasha shrugged. "Maybe. I think I have nothing left to live for. I think there is no more hope. What is point?"

"But obviously you didn't die."

"No. Because even though he is upset, he finds me, gives me coat, makes me get warm again. I fight him, but I do not win."

"Did you still want to die after that?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Natasha looked at her, wide-eyed. "What kind of question is this? Why I do not want to die? I must have reason? I do not want to die because I want to live. What other reason I should have?" She shook her head, setting her jaw. "I do not want to die because I do not want Nebakov to win. I will be stronger than him, and I will make him pay for what he does to me. That is why I want to live. And I have friend back so I know I do not fight alone."

It was more complicated than that, sort of, and it didn't necessarily happen right at that moment, but it was close enough. It wasn't until Clint kissed her on Valentine's Day, when he'd seen her at her absolute worst, in the aftermath of one of her "dates" and kissed her anyway, loved her anyway, that she'd decided that there was no way that she was going to let her uncle get the best of her. He'd given her a reason to start fighting again, to remember who she was, to remember Natasha instead of just Natalia, and to pick herself up and keep going.

"So what did you do after that?"

"After that, we start looking for things that prove that Nebakov is not my uncle. When we find that, we report to police, to FBI." But only after they'd figured out that she could get a protected status for as long as she was part of the investigation and the case, but she hadn't told anyone that, including the lawyers, because she didn't want them to think for a second that she was just saying these things to be able to stay here. "He is arrested, and I am here to make sure that he pay for what he do to me. To make sure that he cannot do same to another girl again. Ever."

"Thank you, Miss Romanova. No further questions."

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies to anyone who knows more about court proceedings and interviews than I do, as I probably got this all kinds of wrong. Everything I know about what goes on in a courtroom comes from television.


End file.
